A veil
of apparent ignorance,
A veil
of mocking innocence,
And a long history
of violence,
Written in bold
on my very face.
Am I the doer?
Or
the sufferer?
I fail to answer every
now and then.
Am I the murderer?
Or
The murdered?
Is the question
I often ask myself.
It is I, who created the world,
It is I, who flattened the structure,
It is I, who is to be blamed
for the food of the vulture.
I know too much,
I know it all
The source, the medium
And the victim
but still I bemoan the mass
that gathers for the dictum.
What fills me inside is about
to overflow,
What withers my conscience is about
to outlaw.
Its all dark everywhere
with no day or night,
And would I be redeemed?
Or
Simply crucified?
Nothing seems to decide
my plight.
I raped and killed and robbed
And got the same in return.
Should I call myself a man?
Or
A dog in disguise?
It needs to be answered
before the tables eventually turn…
